


cowboy take me away

by Kody (saturated)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Cowboys, Fluff and Angst, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Minor Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Mutual Pining, Pining, but they still use 1880s slang, no bigotry, no time period specific bigotry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24590776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturated/pseuds/Kody
Summary: It wasn’t a choice, Richie often told himself, that the wind took him wherever it blew.  It wasn’t Richie’s choice that he hopped around, never staying anywhere for long or else he might leave even more regrets behind.  It was better this way, he convinced himself.  This way no one would get hurt besides himself, that the wake of suffering he so often left would only be felt by himself.---It's 1885. Richie left San Francisco to bealone. He really didn't expect for people to care about him.Eddie is the doctor in Derry, Colorado. He hoped off the train in Laramie ten years ago and he hasn't been back to New York since. But his mother won't stop sending telegrams.-or- A cowboy/wild west AU
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 17
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I wrote a cowboy AU because no one can stop me. The title is from the song "Cowboy Take Me Away" by the Dixie Chicks.
> 
> Before we get into this I will say that this does take place in some version of 1885 but I'm pretending that racism, homophobia, and sexism just don't exist (or at least in a very minimal capacity) because it's my AU and I make the rules.

It wasn’t a choice, Richie often told himself, that the wind took him wherever it blew. It wasn’t Richie’s choice that he hopped around, never staying anywhere for long or else he might leave even more regrets behind. It was better this way, he convinced himself. This way no one would get hurt besides himself, that the wake of suffering he so often left would only be felt by himself.

It also wasn’t his choice when they started tagging along.

Richie didn’t want friends. There was a reason he bounced around from town to town, usually leaving the minute he started getting friendly. But he couldn’t stop them from following him. They said they liked him, liked his jokes and his attitude and his ideas, but Richie knew that was a lie. He couldn’t find the truth, but the words they spoke were lies.

It started first with Beverly. Richie was on his way out of San Francisco, stopping to buy his horse Sweetpea - he didn’t pick his name but he loved it when people thought he did - when he ran into her at the ranch. She was itching to leave but wouldn’t say why.

(“What do you need a horse for, anyway?” she asked leaning on the fence while Richie saddled up Sweetpea. “Ain’t Frisco good enough? Ain’t the big city everything you ever dreamed?”

“I’m not much of a city guy,” Richie responded, which was far from the truth. He had been born and raised in Chicago and liked it well enough, but he had left his fair share of broken dreams there too. “After Chicago burned down, it don’t appeal much anymore.”

Beverly nodded her head from side to side as if contemplating that. As she did, the collar of her shirt bounced around her neck, sliding around enough that Richie caught a glimpse of something he knew she would be embarrassed over, the unmistakable purple of a new bruise. He probably wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t also seen the bruises on her wrists when she reached up into the rafters of the barn to grab the reins to fetch Sweetpea from the pen.

“So what?” Beverly asked. “You sayin’ you burned the city down and you’re on the lam? Or you’re scared Frisco’s gonna burn too? Or you’re huntin’ the guy that did it?”

“You mean the cow that did?” Richie said. “Pretty sure I already caught her when me and my folks had a round of steaks the next week.”

Beverly laughed and her face lit up, giving Richie the grim idea that she hadn’t laughed like that in a long while. He was just about to say something else, another joke at the expense of the cow, something along the lines of “at least she knew to cook herself up before she went”, but the joke died in his throat when the owner came out of the house.

Beverly’s husband, a tall burly man that Richie assumed held the name Rogan as indicated by the sign out front, stood on the porch and called out to her. She hesitated only a second, locking eyes with Richie before running up to the house.

Richie watched them as he pulled her into the house, telling himself not to care whether they came back out or not because he had already paid.

He hopped on Sweetpea after pulling him out of the pen, the instant relief of being on a horse again after not having been on one since leaving Chicago almost a year prior. He didn’t dare look back after riding off. He didn’t think he could bear thinking about Beverly, the first person in a long time to seem to enjoy his company.

Richie definitely didn’t think about the bruises when he made his fire that night, warming his dinner while Sweetpea grazed near him. Instead he thought about the stars, how much brighter they were outside the city, and even though he could still see it in the distance, soon it would be nothing but a bad memory, a place he would never have to return to.

Or at least he tried not to think of Beverly, but it was difficult as he watched her ride up to where he was sitting, her meticulous movement towards the fire as the sun set behind her, the palomino horse (that Beverly had aptly named Pal) that Richie passed over for being too small trotting along at a steady pace, closer and closer until she was there.

She hopped off, not saying a word, and sat next to Richie, choosing to stare at the fire instead of him.

“I don’t remember inviting you,” Richie said with no intention of sending her back.

“My husband thought you were flirtin’” Beverly said solemnly. “He doesn’t take well to me talkin’ to other men.”

“Even if that man’s got no interest in a knockout like you?” Richie fired back, his big mouth unable to control itself. But he would admit it. Beverly was gorgeous, and very, very far from Richie’s type. Her husband didn’t have a need to worry.

Beverly cracked a small smile. “You’re not interested?”

“I happen to find you very disgusting,” Richie said. “Absolute horror to look at.”

“Well,” Beverly said, “it’s a good thing I think you’re nothin’ more than a cheap joke and a lunkhead.”)

It happened without an agreement, without an explanation. They didn’t need one. From the moment that Beverly sat down at that fire they knew each other. They would die for each other if they needed to, but Richie dreaded the day that she needed it.

Instead he looked ahead at their life, the two of them traveling the open plain, town to town with nowhere to go in particular, picking up a job here or there to feed their smoking habit, and picking up a drifter or two much in the same way that Richie picked up Beverly.

Patty liked to travel. That was all she said before following them out of some nameless town they had spent the night in. She had been traveling for years and she thought she was overdue for some companions.

Richie knew immediately that he wouldn’t be able to get rid of her very easily, and he had to admit that he liked that about her.

(“Got room for another?” Patty asked following Richie out of the saloon.

It had an air of playfulness, but with just enough bite behind the words that Richie couldn’t say no. He had the feeling that if he did, she would follow them anyway.

“Bruiser like you don’t need me for protection,” Richie said.

Patty squared him up, eyeing him up and down, inspecting him as though she was actually shopping for a bodyguard. She poked a finger to Richie’s chest and raised an eyebrow.

“You  _ wish _ you were the hotshot you think you are,” Patty said. “I need company. You make me laugh. Beverly’s well read. Seems like a real good fit.”

“I feel like we gotta like you too,” Richie said.

“Don’t pretend like you ain’t prayin’ I never leave you,” Patty said, turning on her heel and mounting her horse. “But don’t you worry. Me and Blondie won’t ever leave your side.”

Beverly walked out of the saloon, slowly creeping up behind Richie who watched Patty meander down the road out of town like he was hoping she’d ride off and forget about tagging along. Richie hoped, but knew she would stop at the edge of town and wait for them, maybe call them slowpokes when they caught up and then take off in a gallop across the plain.

“She’s a real looker,” Beverly said, softly elbowing him. For some reason, Beverly had taken to trying to set Richie up with nearly every girl they came across, and Richie always shot her down, but that didn’t deter her. It fueled her.

“Ain’t my type,” Richie said hopping on Sweetpea.

Beverly scoffed, placing her hands on her hips. “I ain’t your type. She ain’t your type.” She paused. “What is your type, then?”

Richie didn’t have to think long at all to tell her. He knew what his type was and had known for months, although he wasn’t the type to tell everyone on first meeting. He supposed he knew Beverly well enough, and only hesitated a second before saying it.

“Men.”)

It had been a few months after that when they picked up the fourth and final member of their strange little group. Richie was dead set against it, claiming that two companions was too many. That he was better off alone and less likely to hurt anyone this way.

Beverly and Patty ignored him, laughing at whatever joke he had used to make his shitty self-image seem less harsh, and as they laughed, Richie considered dropping the act, telling them straight up that he was nothing but a bomb ready to go off, that they shouldn’t get too close or else they might just get caught in the blast, but he couldn’t. Another thing added to the collateral damage of Richie being himself.

Somewhere around the Colorado border - they couldn’t tell where exactly it was - they came across a camp occupied by the last person Richie would allow to follow him. He was supposed to be alone. When the fuck did he collect this many friends?

(The fire was barely burning with only a few embers and a small flame still going. It was still early morning but whoever this fire belonged to had been up even earlier. They had left their things behind, a bag filled with cans of food, some cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey, a horse. Richie assumed whoever was had stepped aside to take a piss, unaware that a gang of whatever the fuck they were would come by.

Beverly dismounted Pal and strutted around the site, rifling through the things littered around. Patty drifted past, working her way up to the top of the hill to get a view of the area. Richie stayed close to the camp, eyeing the small patch of trees it was parked next to, hearing the unmistakable sound of a gun hammer clicking into place.

“Beverly,” Richie said.

As her name left his mouth, the man stepped out from behind the tree, gun pointed at Beverly, locked and loaded, ready to shoot. He was tall, taller than Richie which he didn’t think was possible, and built strong and wide.

Even with a gun pointed at him, Richie had to admit the guy was hot.

“Can I help you folks?” the man asked, a smile playing at his lips. Richie didn’t count the odds of winning a fight against him.

Richie’s gaze drifted up to Patty at the top of the hill, her attention still at whatever was on the other side.

“Just passin’ through,” Richie said.

“Can do that without rifling through my shit,” the man said.

Beverly took a step forward, and Richie’s heart leapt into his chest. Even though she had been uninvited, at this point, Richie found himself growing more and more fond of her. He couldn’t bear the idea of her getting shot, hurt, killed.

She threw her hand out in front of her. “Name’s Beverly.”

The man looked between Richie and Beverly, still pointing the gun, and when Beverly didn’t back down, a smile crept onto the man’s face, wide and welcoming. He let out a laugh as he lowered the gun and uncocked it.

He shook Beverly’s hand. “Mike. Where you guys headed?”

“Wherever the wind blows,” Beverly said.

“Patty wanted to head out to Laramie,” Richie added.

“Patty,” Mike said, then gestured to Patty on the hill. “Her up there?”

Richie nodded, still unsure if he was scared or attracted to the man, Mike.

“You got a name?”

“Richie.”

“Well, Rich,” Mike said, “hate to ask somethin’ of ya after pointin’ a gun at ya, but it’s safer in numbers out here, and I been meaning to head out towards Cheyenne lately, so maybe I could tag along for part of the way.”

Mike seemed nice enough, and Richie had already let Beverly and Patty join him, so why shouldn’t Mike be allowed to come? He had a point too, that there was safety in numbers. And how could Richie say no to a face like his?

“Long as you can keep up,” Richie said, moving on ahead to catch up with Patty and wait for Mike to load up.

He didn’t move fast enough because Beverly caught up obviously wanting to talk.

“Alright,” Beverly said. “He’s your type.”

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” Richie asked. “Seems more like your type.”

“My type don’t exist,” Beverly said. “I left my husband. I’m not lookin’ for another.” Richie remembered the bruises, the ones that he hadn’t seen in months. He wasn’t about to shove her into something she wasn’t ready for.

So, he played along. “He could probably give me a scream.”

Beverly made a pleased noise. “I’m sure he could give any one of us a scream.”)

But suddenly Richie had people to care about since leaving Chicago. They had weaseled their way into his life and something that was supposed to be his punishment became something he cared about, something he would protect, but he would never admit that to them. He would never admit that he cared about the people that followed him when he said no. He was too stubborn for that.

So, instead, Richie made jokes and told them just enough about himself that they were satisfied, although he had the growing suspicion that they all had stories he would never get to hear. That was fine with him. The less he knew, the less he had to grow attached to. The easier it would be to leave if he had to.

They made slow and easy progress towards Laramie, or rather, a small town about 50 miles south of Laramie called Derry.

Patty had a reason for going, but she refused to share that reason, often saying “that’ll spoil the surprise” and “where’s the fun without a little adventure?” Both statements unfortunately caused Richie to grow fonder of her by the second.

It wasn’t until they stood over the valley, the town a spot in the distance, that Patty confessed.

“I’m goin’ to see my man,” Patty said under her breath while taking in the sight.

“A man?” Beverly asked, a playful curiosity in her voice.

“Name’s Stanley,” Patty said. “He’s everything a girl could ask for.”

“Everything?” Beverly said with an air of doubt. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Patty said, starting down into the valley. “He’s a real looker. Smart, kind, thoughtful. He understands me better than I do myself. Lets me come and go as I please. He waits for me.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at the other following close behind. “Don’t you worry, Beverly. We’ll find you a man that’s just as good as he is.”

“Ha,” Beverly said. “Don’t believe a man like that exists.”

At the same time, both Richie and Mike had their piece to say, Richie saying “Ain’t I a man?” and Mike confirming “Yeah, that’s true.”

Richie looked at Mike, staring him down as though that would make him change his mind.

“Don’t know what you want, Rich,” Mike said. “You can’t tell me you’d wait for a lady if she ran off for months at a time.”

“I wouldn’t wait for a lady if she ran off to the store,” Richie said.

Beverly laughed, a joke only for her, a joke that Patty was not too pleased with.

“That’s why you ain’t got anyone, Richard,” Patty said. “You don’t know how to open up and love.”

“I’d wait for the right man, though,” Richie said quickly, unable to stop himself. It was the truth, and even though he would never admit it out loud, he had a connection with these people. They had earned their one look into Richie’s life.

“I’ll drink to that,” Mike said, grinning.

“Don’t worry, boys,” Patty said. “Derry’s got enough lonely men to go around. Whether you’re lookin’ for a poke or your soulmate, I’m sure we can grab all of you a man.”

“But not before you get yours,” Beverly finished for her.

“Hell yeah,” Patty said before speeding into a gallop across the plain.

Beverly took off behind her, whooping and yelling at the chase, a race that didn’t give either of them a start or end point. Richie watched them wishing he could be as excited about a new place as they were.

“You know,” Mike said, “I think Derry’s gonna be fun.” And before Richie could answer, Mike took off behind the other two, joining in on the game.

Richie, left in the dust, had only time to think. He wasn’t looking for anyone for anything, not even a poke as Patty had suggested. He just wanted to get in, maybe make a buck or two, and get out. Maybe he could even slip away from the others if they got distracted.

No, he wouldn’t do that. It was always a thought, always something permeating his mind, that he could run from them the same way he ran from everything else, but unlike everything else, they didn’t ask questions. They let Richie be, letting him joke, teasing him but never meaning it. He liked it this way. He didn’t have to explain anything to anybody.

They were starting to get away from him, and he thought he ought to catch up. Richie launched Sweetpea into a gallop, catching up slowly to his friends. There was always something about the open plain, the mountains surrounding him and being on a long stretch of flat land, running as fast as he could on his horse. This was freedom, he thought. This was what he ran for, the freedom of the west, the freedom of the chase.

His friends were close. They had slowed down, walking to rest their horses before reaching town. Richie ought to slow down too, but he felt it before he heard it.

He felt a bullet go right through his arm, his right one, spooking Sweetpea so that he bucked Richie off and ran away. Richie fell with a thud on his back, staring up at the bright sun, and feeling it slip away as he grew unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweetpea and Blondie have names thanks to Horrorable on Twitter and Pal is the name of the horse I used to ride before I stopped and I love him and miss him. Mike's horse has a name and you'll find it out lol it's not like a secret or anything but it just didn't come up.
> 
> Hmu on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/iheartsharkey) and [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/the-u-s-s-enterprise) if you want to yell at me about It or just to say hi lmao


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't expect chapters to constantly come up like this. I just got lucky that the writing gods blessed me with this chapter today.
> 
> Quick note is that the losers are all around 30, give or take a year.
> 
> Also I didn't mention it before but general TW for the entire fic of mentions of guns.

Eddie thumbed the telegram that had just arrived from New York. His mother had sent three in the last week, which Eddie should have taken to mean that something was wrong, but it wasn’t the first time she had done this. About once a year, like clockwork, the letters turned into telegrams, begging Eddie to come back to New York, that something was wrong and she needed him. And every year it was a lie.

MEDICAL EMERGENCY.

COME HOME.

URGENT.

The first time was the worst. Eddie had dropped everything to go back to discover that nothing was wrong, only that she hadn’t received a letter in a while and was worried about him. Eddie got back to Derry to discover that one of the kids had gotten horribly sick with the flu and had to take an extra week to recover because Eddie hadn’t been there to catch it right away.

Eddie was a doctor first, and he stuck to that. He told his mother that he needed specifics if he was going to rush to her side, and she didn’t listen, and he didn’t keep his promise. Every year he went back, only to be fooled by her yet again.

He wouldn’t this time. He couldn’t.

There was always something here that needed him, some illness or injury or gunshot wound to tend to. He wasn’t about to let the previous doctor’s reputation keep these people from trusting him. Dr. Keene had been notoriously horrible at his job, often mixing up medications, suturing loose or uneven stitches, and on more than one occasion, being the direct cause of someone’s death.

Eddie couldn’t let his mother be the reason he was as infamously known as him. He set the telegram on his desk when the door to his office opened.

It was Bill, who normally didn’t bother Eddie during the day unless he needed to. And even then, Bill would often ignore his own ails in order to keep working. Collateral damage of raising his brother, Eddie supposed. After his parents died all those years ago, Bill had developed a nasty habit of shouldering too much responsibility, and he wouldn’t let Eddie help him in the slightest.

“D-d-didn’t mean to interrupt,” Bill said. “Georgie woke up with nasty cough.”

“It’s cause he smokes more than a wood stove in winter,” Eddie said, immediately moving to his medicine cabinet. “And he’s an adult, Bill. If he needs something, he can ask me himself.”

“You know I worry,” Bill said, wandering into the office. Eddie watched him out of the corner of his eye as he looked over Eddie’s desk. “‘Nother telegram?”

Eddie sighed, taking the cough medicine out of the cabinet. “Yeah. Ma’s relentless.”

Bill picked it up, flipping it over in his hands. “You gonna go?”

Eddie shrugged. He told himself he wouldn’t give in this time, that her lies were done and she couldn’t control him anymore, but there was still that itch. She was his mother after all.

“Don’t think I should,” Eddie said after a second. “But what if it really is an emergency this time?”

“Then she’s the one that c-c-cried wolf,” Bill said.

It was always so easy for Bill to say things like that when his parents died over 10 years ago, and when he was there when they did. Eddie never said that to him, though. Bill was the only person in town that seemed to understand him, although Eddie did try with other people too.

It was easy enough to get on with Georgie, but then again, Georgie got on with anyone that Bill did, so it wasn’t as though Eddie had to try too hard with him. He tried talking to Bill’s friends, Stan the general store owner and Ben the farmer. They were nice enough and easy to drink with but Eddie couldn’t find it in himself to share anything with them beyond casual pleasantries.

So, Eddie avoided any and all confrontation with Bill. He wasn’t about to alienate everyone in town that gave a shit about him.

“C’mon,” Eddie said, gesturing to the door. “Let’s go bother your brother.”

When Bill’s parents died he had fallen into some luck when the elderly saloon owner offered them the room in the back as payment for Bill working the bar. The man had been getting up in his years and had a hard time standing, so he trained Bill on how to bartend and began his four years of sitting in the corner of the bar, managing from a distance.

And when he died, it was no surprise that he left the place to Bill.

Eddie walked through the front doors to the eerily quiet saloon. It was never very busy during the day, but there were always those one or two regulars that stopped by with nothing better to do except waste away and drink until they keeled over in the streets. It was the perfect time for Bill to fuck off and leave Georgie in charge of the bar.

Georgie slumped over it, looking bored out of his mind. It was no secret that Georgie hated Derry and was itching to get out and build a ranch, but the problem came with his arm. He had lost his right one in an accident when he was 12, one of those horrible tales that Eddie heard when he came to take over the doctor’s position. A bad break that was poorly set and stitched which led to a horrible infection. Something that never would have happened with a competent doctor.

Eddie took a seat in front of him, placing the bottle on the bar.

“Billy’s an asshole,” Georgie said without any heart, then turned to cough into his arm. 

“Bill’s just looking out for you,” Eddie said as Bill slipped into the back.

“I’m not a kid,” Georgie said. “I don’t need him lookin’ out for me.”

At some point, Eddie had become Georgie’s confessional. Whenever he needed to complain about Bill, he was at Eddie’s door, and every single time it led back to Bill being overbearing and overprotective. Eddie thought Bill’s motives were natural after losing his parents at such a young age, but Georgie didn’t care. He wanted Bill to let up and let him go, and Eddie didn’t blame him.

“I know,” Eddie said, pushing the cough medicine towards Georgie. “But I’m gonna make you take some anyway. Just a swig.”

Georgie took the bottle and drank some, slamming it back down on the bar. “Happy?”

“Always happy to do my job,” Eddie said. He turned to look at the back door which was propped open, and then around at the man sitting at a table with a half-full glass of scotch. “You wanna take the rest of the day off?”

Georgie smiled slightly at that. “That feels a little malicious.”

“I’m not the one that went running to the doctor over a little cough,” Eddie said.

“Yeah, well,” Bill said coming up behind him, causing Eddie to almost jump out of his seat, “if he wants to go to Laramie in a few days, I d-d-don’t wanna worry ‘bout him while he’s gone.”

Georgie’s smile faded. “I can go to fuckin’ Laramie by myself, Bill. I know how to ride a fuckin’ horse and go north.”

“You can’t saddle a horse without help,” Bill said. “I need to trust that you’ll be fine.”

“It’s two fuckin’ days,” Georgie said, “and then the train comes in and I won’t be alone. I can’t prove myself to you if you don’t let me.”

“Okay,” Eddie said standing up, knowing exactly where this would lead to. The last time Eddie wasn’t around to break up a fight, a few bottles of whiskey ended up shattered on the ground, neither of them wanting to confess to it, and Bill being out almost 20 bucks.

Eddie looked at Georgie. “How about a walk?”

“Doubt the boss will let me,” Georgie said, holding Bill’s gaze.

“‘S fine,” Bill muttered and walked away, heading to the back again.

Eddie nodded his head towards the door, then walking out into the street. Georgie followed close behind. They started down the street without a destination and without a word, likely going to end up at the edge of the pasture of Ben’s farm. Maybe if they were lucky, one of the cows would be nearby.

Eddie had grown up in New York, but the moment he graduated from medical school, he hopped on the first train out and got off when he felt like he had gone far enough. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he knew it wasn’t a city filled with grimy, greasy, disease-ridden people. Sure, the people out here weren’t much better, but at least there were less of them.

He wasn’t sure if he liked the dust and wide plains and the gruff masculine people, but he liked the fresh air, the stars at night, the gentle sound of birds waking him up in the morning.

And he liked that his mother wasn’t here.

That was good enough for him.

“Do you think Bill will still let me go to Laramie by myself?” Georgie asked after a couple minutes. Eddie had tried to see him for what he was, a full-grown man with ambitions and abilities, but all Eddie could ever see was the sweet 13-year old boy he first met ten years ago. And all Eddie could see right now was a kid who was scared of getting in trouble.

“I think he’d be a real jackass if he didn’t,” Eddie said.

“I don’t mean to get so mad,” Georgie confessed. “He just pisses me off.”

“You’re not the only one,” Eddie said. “But he’s trying. It’s not really that easy for someone to raise their little brother.”

“You said that before,” Georgie said.

“And I’ll say it again,” Eddie said.

“Doesn’t mean he has to take it out on me,” Georgie muttered. “He’s prob’ly gonna send Ben with me as a compromise.”

“He won’t,” Eddie said, and he knew it too. Bill was a lot of talk, and no action. He always made threats like, probably to make sure that Georgie stayed safe, or maybe to get him to stop talking back. Eddie couldn’t imagine the kind of stress Bill was under, but someone constantly arguing with him didn’t help. “You know he always guffs like this. He trusts you more than you think.”

Georgie didn’t respond to that, walking further ahead of Eddie. He couldn’t imagine the stress Georgie was under either.

Eddie followed him into the general store where Stan was knelt over a box of goods, pulling out cans of coffee and placing it on the shelf. Georgie leaned against the counter.

“Alright, Stan,” Georgie said. “What’s new? Get my mind off the bullshit in my life.”

“Coffee’s here,” Stan said flatly, shaking the can that was in his hand. “What kind of bullshit?”

Georgie quickly relayed a very biased account of what had happened, making sure to paint Bill as his controlling overlord rather than a concerned brother. Stan looked to Eddie for an explanation.

“You know how Bill is,” Eddie offered, and Stan nodded as though that was all he needed.

“So, talk to me,” Georgie said. “What’s going on in Stan’s life?”

Stan huffed, placed a few more cans on the shelf, and then stood up. “The only thing going on in my life is that I’m still waiting on the love of my life to return. She should be here in the next couple of days.”

Stan picked up the box and took it to the small storage room off to the side.

“Your runaway bride?” Georgie asked, grinning widely. “Can’t lock Patricia down?”

Stan came out of the back room, hands on his hips. “Don’t need to. She keeps coming back.”

Georgie picked a hard candy out of the jar on the counter and popped it in his mouth. “Why? Your dick that good?”

“You owe me a penny for that candy.”

Georgie turned to Eddie. “I don’t think Stan likes talking about his corker of a dick.”

Eddie crossed his arms. “Would you?”

Georgie shrugged, still grinning. “I give a good one. I’ll say it.”

“And that’s why  _ your  _ runaway bride is returning to you,” Stan said.

“Damn straight.”

Before anyone could say anything else, a gunshot rang through the air, the unmistakable sound coming from Ben’s farm. Eddie stepped outside to check things out, leaving Georgie and Stan inside, unfazed by the sound that was likely Ben shooting a fox or something that dared get too close to his chickens. Eddie was a little more pragmatic than most people. He needed to double-check, make sure things were fine.

Usually they were. Usually it was just Ben, or some drifter, shooting an animal. But today it wasn’t, and Eddie knew it when the horse came galloping up to the edge of town, at the end of the road.

The horse slowed to a stop, nodding his head as Eddie slowly approached him. He carefully grabbed the reins and looked out into the field where people and their horses had gathered, and further south was a group of riders, four to be exact, riding away, not daring to look back at the mess they left behind.

It was only a second later that Ben appeared from the north end of the field where his farm was, riding quickly towards the town. Eddie waited for him, waited for the news that he would have to prepare his office for a gunshot wound of indeterminate size and fatality. That someone might die in Derry today because of a couple of schmucks that couldn’t control themselves.

Ben stopped in front of Eddie.

“Couple a’ drifters,” Ben said, slightly out of breath. “Bowers shot one of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that it's important but just so everyone knows, I'm picturing Patty as Tracee Ellis Ross and Georgie as Alexander Calvert


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally screamed when I proofread this chapter because I love the Losers and I love them as cowboys anyway enjoy

Richie was jolted awake when he was unceremoniously tossed on a cot he was unfamiliar with. He opened his eyes, a sharp pain ringing through his head when the light was too bright, and a vague pain in his right bicep like a weak child had been sawing at him with a dull blade.

A headache was a normal occurrence for him when he was in the sun all day and had prescription glasses that hadn’t been updated in years despite his declining eyesight, so Richie’s natural reaction was to reach for the other pain, unsurprised that when he pulled his hand back it was warm and sticky with blood. He had never been shot before but he knew what it looked like, and he didn’t have to look at the wound to know what had happened.

“Don’t touch it,” someone said hovering over him, grabbing his wrist and putting it by his side.

Richie squinted through his headache, letting his eyes adjust to the room and the man standing over him. He was angry. That was the first thing Richie noticed, the way his frown wrinkled his face, which Richie thought was a shame because it meant his beautiful brown eyes were drowned by his sour mood. His neat dark hair kind of annoyed Richie though. Richie never believed in taming his hair for any reason, so to see someone else put effort into theirs gave him an unexpected ire.

Another thing Richie noticed was how short this man was. Surely he wasn’t the one that hefted Richie into the room and onto the bed.

As if he could read Richie’s mind, Mike spoke from the other side of the room. “So, he’ll be fine?”

“It’s deep,” said the man, who Richie assumed was the town’s doctor, “but he ain’t in the soup. Few stitches and he’ll be fine.”

The doctor’s face softened when he told all this to Mike, and Richie felt a gentle drop in his heart looking at him.

“You my guardian angel, doc?” Richie croaked, adopting a smug grin that usually got him into trouble.

“You wish,” the doctor said, turning to Richie, pouring something on a piece of cloth.

“Here’s the part where you tell me this won’t hurt at all, right?” Richie said.

“Actually it’s gonna hurt a lot,” the doctor said and placed the cloth where Richie’s shirt had been ripped open.

Richie liked to think he had a high pain tolerance, and he did for the most part when it came to pain he knew how to handle, but this was new, something he didn’t have a chance to anticipate. He couldn’t help it when his body tensed in pain, when he gave a sharp intake of breath followed by a loud moan.

“Kids handle this better than you,” the doctor said, a smile teasing his lips.

“I’m just puttin’ on a show for ya, doc,” Richie said through gritted teeth. “Make you feel better.”

“Make me feel better if you shut your yap and let me do my job.”

“What job’s that? Torture?”

The doctor rolled his eyes and took the cloth away from Richie’s arm. The air was surprisingly cool now that the wound had been cleaned and disinfected.

“If he’ll be fine,” Mike said, “then I’m gonna head out.”

“What’s wrong, Mikey?” Richie said, finally sitting up and realizing he had done that too quickly as spots dancing across his vision. “You squeamish?”

“Left Beverly alone outside,” Mike explained. He tipped his hat towards the doctor before heading out, leaving Richie alone with the beautiful doctor.

Or should he call the doctor angry? Annoying? Or maybe he could get a name out of this guy.

“Take off your shirt,” the doctor said, turning around with the suture in his hand.

“Least buy me dinner first,” Richie joked as he slipped off his shirt, slowly and gingerly as his arm acted up.

The doctor ignored Richie, coming at him with the suture, ready to stitch up the wound. Richie didn’t say anything, and barely flinched when he started, choosing instead to study the doctor’s features as he focused intently on stitching Richie’s arm.

By now the skin around the area was mostly numb, the needle feeling like a soft prick when it went in and out of Richie’s skin. The doctor paid close attention, stitching more precisely than Richie had ever seen. Most doctors want people in and out, sloppy jobs and uneven stitches. Or even that time that Richie had to stitch someone up himself when they were still a couple hours out from the city and any doctor.

But this doctor cared about the work he did. It was almost admirable if he hadn’t laughed at Richie earlier.

“So, you got a name?” Richie asked. “Or should I just call you doc?”

“You can call me Dr. Kaspbrak,” the doctor,  _ Doctor Kaspbrak _ , said. “What about you? Or should I just call you ‘dumbass windbag who let himself get shot by Henry Bowers?’”

“Call me Richie,” Richie said. “And who the hell is Henry Bowers?”

Dr. Kaspbrak finished the stitch, tying it off, and finished with a slap to Richie’s arm that stung more than Richie thought it should.

“Local ruffian,” Dr. Kaspbrak said. “Likes to shoot people’s horses for fun, and we haven’t been able to catch him yet.”

“Well, thank god he ain’t got my horse,” Richie said. “I paid 30 bucks for ‘im.”

Dr. Kaspbrak rolled his eyes again, but this time with a small smile on his face. “Yeah, lucky for you, he just got your arm real bad, and now I have to put you in a sling.”

“That’s not happening,” Richie said immediately. In a sling, he wouldn’t be able to ride, or to move more than just enough for getting dressed in the morning. He wasn’t planning on staying here any longer than a night, planning on heading north in the morning, without his company.

Patty had her man here, and Mike was still looking to head to Cheyenne, so they didn’t need Richie much anymore, and Beverly was strong enough to take care of herself. San Francisco was a long ways away and there was no way in hell her husband would find her here. She could stay or go for all Richie cared.

He couldn’t stay. He wasn’t built for staying anywhere.

“It is if you don’t want those stitches coming undone,” Dr. Kaspbrak said tonelessly, grabbing bandages from a cabinet.

“I’m careful,” Richie said.

“I doubt that,” Dr. Kaspbrak sighed. “If you don’t let me wrap it and put it in a sling,” the doctor continued without missing a beat, “then your stitches will come out, and best case, it’s gonna hurt a lot and leave a nasty scar, and worst case, you get an awful infection and that arm comes off. Your choice, Richard.”

“Richie,” Richie corrected. “Only my ma calls me Richard.”

“Your choice,  _ Richie _ .”

Richie thought for a second, and came to the quick conclusion that a few days in Derry wouldn’t be as bad as an amputation, even if the doc was exaggerating. Or maybe he wasn’t. Richie didn’t know too much about medicine, which should be reason enough to believe a doctor.

“Fine,” Richie muttered.

Dr. Kaspbrak looked like he was about to say something, but must have decided against it when he started wrapping Richie’s arm. It was a slow and tedious process to ensure the stitching had enough wrapping to stay together and that it still allowed Richie’s arm to breathe. 

It finally struck Richie how sore his arm was as he held it out, and although his compliance was reluctant, maybe it was necessary if he wanted this to heal right.

“You got a first name, doc?” Richie asked, trying to ignore how soft Dr. Kaspbrak’s hands were on his skin, the gentle touches and caresses that felt a little too close for a doctor to be. “I’m not big on uppity titles like that.”

“I do,” Dr. Kaspbrak said as he finished wrapping Richie’s arm. He went to yet another cabinet and pulled a long cloth out, holding both ends. “Put your shirt back on.”

Richie did what he was told without thinking, knowing only that the doctor had avoided the question. Once Richie had his shirt back on, Dr. Kaspbrak held the cloth out, and Richie put his arm in the middle like he knew he should.

“Didn’t answer my question,” Richie said as Dr. Kaspbrak tied the sling around Richie’s neck.

“Yes, I did,” Dr. Kaspbrak said. “You asked me if I did, and I do.”

“Asshole. Can I know it?”

“Nope,” the doctor said with finality. “Now why don’t you get out of my office. I have to meet someone down at the saloon.”

“Got a hot date?” Richie teased as he got off the cot, and picked his hat up from where it fell on the floor.

“You jealous?” Dr. Kaspbrak said, taking his own hat off the hat rack.

Richie’s first instinct was to say that he was, but he bit that down and ignored it. It wasn’t uncommon that Richie had what he considered impalpable chemistry with some man in whatever town he was in. It was usually down the lines of Richie throwing himself out there and easily hooking up for one night because he could leave in the morning. He didn’t have to face the guy afterwards, but he would have to face the doctor tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.

Richie ignored the other tiny part of himself that was slightly glad to stay in Derry for a little while.

“You wish,” Richie said. “C’mon, doc. I could go for a drink.”

Richie head out in front of Dr. Kaspbrak, eager to get out of the office and to take a load off with people he knew how to talk to. Not that it was difficult to talk to the doctor, but there was something about the way they spoke that told Richie he had to watch his words around the guy, and he wasn’t big on that. It was easier to be with people who let whatever words Richie could think of spill out of his mouth.

Dr. Kaspbrak followed behind. “You and Patricia known each other for long?” he asked.

“Couple months,” Richie said.

The doctor nodded as they passed the general store a couple doors down, with a sign on it that read ‘Be back soon’. “How long do you think soon is?”

“If she’s been gone for months,” Richie said, “then I don’t think he’ll be back till next week.”

Dr. Kaspbrak chuckled at that. “I don’t know why she can’t settle down for him. Ben’s more than happy to have help on his ranch if she’s got that energy.”

It was Richie’s turn to laugh. He may not have known Patty for too long, but he liked to think he knew her well enough. “Sometimes folks gotta run. It’s in their blood.”

“Like you?”

Richie paused. Of course, he had to run, but he never felt it in his blood, never compared what he felt to what he saw in Patty, or even in Beverly. He wasn’t running for the hell of it. He had to run. He had to because he knew there was no place for him, not even with someone else.

“I suppose,” Richie lied.

“I don’t believe that,” Dr. Kaspbrak said, and Richie’s heart skipped a beat. There was no way that the doctor could have caught on to him. “I think people can change if they really want to.”

He spoke as though through experience, and Richie wondered briefly what the doctor would have gone through to make him so optimistic. Richie knew there was good in the world, and tried to be positive, but folks with endless optimism, even when faced with reality, he never understood.

“You can’t believe that,” Richie said.

“If someone loves someone,” Dr. Kaspbrak said almost to himself, “then why wouldn’t they be willing to do anything for them?”

Richie was about to say something to cut him down, something about the harsh nature of reality, that sometimes people have obligations and unforeseen circumstances that don’t let them be who they want to be, even if they love someone, even if they’re begging for that chance. But Richie didn’t get a chance to before walking through the doors of the saloon. Dr. Kaspbrak decided that was the end of the conversation, or at least for now, and beelined for the bar where he started talking to the kid standing behind it.

Richie must have stared too long because the kid caught him looking and said, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” before turning back to a laughing doctor.

Richie quickly scrambled to the table where he caught Mike and Beverly, joining them as Beverly started fretting over his arm. It took Richie that long to realize the kid took offense because he only had one arm, but Richie was too busy watching the doctor, surprisingly fascinated by him.

“Are you gonna be alright?” Beverly asked as Richie sat down.

“Peachy,” Richie said. “Gotta wear this shit for a few days so I don’t bust the stitches.”

“That’s alright,” Mike said. “We could use a breather.”

“Honey,” Beverly said, sipping her drink, “I think a breather is the last thing on your mind.”

At this, Mike turned to look at the bar, at the other person standing behind it, a shorter man with light brown hair hidden under his hat, a light patch of scruff on his chin indicating that he hadn’t shaved in a day or two. He poured a drink and passed it to Dr. Kaspbrak, laughing at something he said. His gaze went to where Mike was looking at him, a tinge of red spreading over his cheeks.

Beverly leaned over to Richie. “Mike hit it off with the barkeep.”

Mike turned back to the table, and threw back his drink. “Ain’t a good hit ‘til I score.”

And with that, he stood up and went up to the bar, leaning over and catching the attention of the blushing barkeep. Richie looked away when they started talking, not wanting to intrude, despite not being able to hear anything.

“Five bucks says he don’t get any,” Richie said.

“How hopelessly pessimistic,” Beverly said with a smirk. “Barkeep’s head over heels.”

“And he don’t know what he’s doing neither,” Richie added. “Looks like a fuckin’ schoolgirl the way he’s blushin’.”

“Have a little faith,” Beverly said as the sound of glass shattering filled the room.

Richie turned towards the sound to see that the barkeep had dropped a glass on the ground, having accidentally thrown it over the bar so that it shattered in front of everyone. The kid behind the bar started laughing and Dr. Kaspbrak hid a smile behind his hand as he stood up to help clean it.

The blushing barkeep was beet red and hid his face behind his hands as Mike leaned over the bar, presumably to tell him that it was okay.

Without warning, Richie’s arm flared, a stinging pain that itched and seared at the same time. He bit back a moan, breathing through gritted teeth as he waited for it to pass.

“Think I need a smoke,” Richie said quickly.

He stood, choosing not to wait for Beverly to join him like she was apt to do. He needed a moment alone, a moment to think about the place he was staying in, being forced to stay in, and how everyone seemed to be getting on without him. Patty had her man and it seemed that Mike had found one for himself. It was only a matter of time before Beverly decided this was the place she would sink her roots.

At least Richie could get some air and calm himself down with a cigarette.

He went outside, and sat himself down on the boxes out there, pulling his smokes out with his left hand and putting one in his right to light it with his good hand. It was slow and difficult to even get the cigarette and the match out.

He tried striking once, twice, three times, and the match was done sparking. He threw it away and got another one out to the same result.

He considered taking the sling off, but decided against it because he didn’t want to be stuck here longer than he needed to be. But he couldn’t even light a damn cigarette.

Someone had followed him out, and without looking, Richie assumed it was Beverly. “Figured I was obvious about wantin’ to be alone.”

Richie looked up to see the kid from the bar sit next to him.

“Bet you think I’m a real pussy for not being able to light a smoke,” Richie said.

He tried to light another match to no avail, and threw it to the ground, almost ready to give up. The kid pulled out his own cigarette, placed it in his mouth, and struck a match with no problem, lighting his cigarette in less time than Richie would have even if he had both hands.

“Dr. Kaspbrak’s a fuckin’ menace, ya know,” the kid said. “I was jus’ like you, thought it was easy, then the doc comes at me with a fuckin’ saw tellin’ me he needs to take it off. Lucky to escape with my life. Don’ let him fool you. He’s lyin’.”

Richie gaped at him, unsure of what to say or think. The kid was talking to the doctor inside, the two of them getting along well enough, but maybe that was a trick. Maybe the kid was protecting himself. It wouldn’t be the first time Richie came across a doctor that was god-fucking-awful at his job, a little to happy to cause harm to his patients.

“No shit?” Richie said, trying to play it off.

“‘Round here we try not to get hurt,” the kid continued. “The doc is crazy.”

The kid took a solemn pull on his cigarette, looking ahead instead of at Richie, and Richie pondering whether or not to believe him. The doctor seemed to have a natural disdain for Richie, disagreeing and quipping with him the whole time they were together, so it wouldn’t be off for him to sic his friend on Richie, play a joke. But then again, Richie would look like a real ass if he didn’t believe the kid and he was telling the truth.

“Yeah?” Richie asked. “What else he done?”

The kid blew out smoke. “Uh, plenty,” he said a little too slowly. Got him.

“You really thought I believed that shit?”

“The doc told me not to,” the kid said, smiling slightly. “Thought it’d be funny. Not much else happens ‘round here so I gotta make fun with the drifters.” He paused, his smile growing. “Lucky for me, they never shoot back on account of my arm. No one wants to be the dick that socks a kid with one arm.”

Richie smiled back, remembering when he was younger, too afraid to run, poking fun at anything and everything that gave him something to do. He might have grown up in the city, but he never had many friends, so his fun was limited to whatever he could make himself, and that unfortunately ended up with him getting decked by someone before the end of it. He didn’t have the same fallback as this kid did.

The door opened, and someone else came out, the blushing barkeep looking less flustered and more upset.

“Thought you were s’posed to be working,” the barkeep said to the kid.

“Havin’ a smoke,” the kid threw back, his grin falling. “Not everyone wants to get stuck dead end like you.”

The barkeep sighed and rubbed his face. “I’m not doin’ this right now. Finish up and come back in.”

“Fine,” the kid said, throwing his cigarette down and putting it out. He got up, moping and angry, pushing past the barkeep to go back in.

The barkeep looked after him, then back at Richie. “Sorry ‘bout ‘im. He don’t mean n-n-nothin’ he says.”

“He’s funny,” Richie confessed, striking a match and finally lighting it. He lit his cigarette before turning back to the barkeep. “Why? What’s his deal?”

“Nothin’” the barkeep said. “My brother’s just ornery ‘cause his partner’s outta town. Comin’ back in a few days and he’s tired of waitin’.” The barkeep shifted on his feet, looking around as though making sure he and Richie were alone. “You friends with that guy you came in with?”

“Mike?” Richie asked, unable to stop himself from smiling.

“Yeah,” the barkeep said. “What’s, uh, what’s his d-d-deal?”

“Down to clown,” Richie said without hesitation.

The barkeep nodded quickly, the red returning to his face. “Th-th-thanks. I’m Bill, by the way. My brother’s Georgie, and uh, you m-met  _ Dr. Kaspbrak _ .” He finished on the name of the doctor with an added inflection, like it was funny for him. Richie had never wanted to know the name of someone anymore than he did now, especially because it seemed everyone was in on the joke.

“Richie,” Richie introduced. “Alright, big Bill, since I told you, you gotta tell me, what’s the doc’s deal?”

“Why?” Bill asked, smiling. “You  _ down to clown _ ?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Richie took a pull on his cigarette, contemplating throwing Bill into a ravine. The kid, Georgie, was annoying too, but at least he was funny. Bill had an obvious alliance with the doctor, and it got under Richie’s skin.

“Maybe I oughta,” were the only words Richie could find.

Bill tipped his hat to Richie, mumbling something about having to go back to work, leaving Richie alone outside, continuing to smoke his cigarette.

Maybe he wanted something with the doctor, one night and then he would leave in the morning. He wouldn’t have to face him ever again and things would be okay. That was all Richie could seem to handle, but that was something he could work out over the days he was stuck here, and try his best to avoid Dr. Kaspbrak, though that seemed an impossible task.

Richie finished his cigarette, watching the small town street, the postmaster across the street as he closed up shop, grabbing two telegrams that must have just come in as he locked the door.

The postmaster beelined across the street for the saloon, walking past Richie and inside. Richie got up and followed him in to watch him hand one to the doctor and one to the kid, before grabbing a seat at an already packed table.

Doctor Kaspbrak ran a hand through his hair, the stress obvious on his face as his brow furrowed and his mouth turned into a frown. He slammed the telegram down and Bill slid him a drink without having to ask.

Richie went up to the doctor.

“Alright,” Richie said, leaning on the bar next to him, “I swear I’m gonna get a name outta you, even if none of your pals wanna tell me.”

“You could get my name by the end of the night if you tried hard enough,” Dr. Kaspbrak said.

“What do I gotta do?”

“I think you already know,” the doctor said, winking at Richie. He turned quickly to greet the man who had just walked in, getting up to say hello. “Hey, Ben,” he said as he walked away from Richie.

Richie watched him go, studying his movements as he greeted his friend, them chatting idly by the door. Dr. Kaspbrak took a moment to glance back at Richie, then returned his attention to his friend, leaving Richie to wonder if anyone else saw that, or if it was just his imagination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking about writing the hanbrough version of this story because I love Bill and Mike and I want them to be happy but cowboy Bill has a lot of problems and you hear about like 2 of them (out of a million) in this fic, anyway if anyone is interested please tell me I need motivation.


End file.
